MerryGoRound
by Wofl
Summary: It never would have occurred to them that the harmony of two would be broken [ConnorxMurphy][smut]


It wasn't like it used to be. It seemed like the last two weeks had picked them up like a snow globe and shook them around for a bit, just to see where they'd land when they settled again.

When they had come to America, just the two of them, away from the family, and the endless misty green, and the pubs of Ireland and chose instead the dingy, one room apartment in an even dingier city in the country on which the dreams of a million immigrants were built upon, they never would have guessed where they'd have ended up down the road. It never would have occurred to them that the harmony of two would be broken. But suddenly, Connor and Murphy realized that they were, once again, under the watchful eyes of their father.

Of course telling him that his only sons were in a gay incestuous relationship was out of the question. Likewise, all signs and clues of aforementioned relationship were also out of the question.

It became a game to them.

A breathless kiss, stolen in the hallway of some seedy motel, Connor pressed hard against the corridor wall, Murphy's teeth scraping across his brother's bottom lip, his hand fisted in Connor's shirt, all bottled up passion and fierce possessiveness. And then just as quickly as the fire would flare up, it would burn out, clothes straightened and composures flawless as Il Duce steeped out into the hall after them. He turned a leering gaze in their direction before stomping off on his way towards the lobby; they followed behind, silently snickering about their deftness behind his back.

A sloppy blowjob when they could get away with it, usually while Da was in the shower, or after a job when they could slip into some corner during the melee and simply claim they had to dodge the cops. The old man didn't need to know that Murphy had actually been up against a brick wall just below someone's window flowerbox. Would never be told that "dodging the cops" actually meant that Connor had been running his tongue along the underside of Murphy's cock, fingers pressing into the flesh of his thighs hard enough to leave bruises.

"Dodging the cops" meant Murphy's pants were are around his knees, his fingers fisted in sandy blonde hair, the smell of trash reeking in his nostrils. But it had been the hottest moment of his life because at any moment someone could have stumbled across them. Because the two knew they had mere minutes to pull this off before they were missed.

And it would be that much more thrilling because it was their secret. Because it was the one thing in their life that stayed the same. Because no one but them needed to see one another in such states. Murphy knew he was the only one who would ever see Connor on his knees, moaning around the dick in his mouth. Similarly, Connor knew he was the only one who could make his brother come in 4 minutes flat.

It was their game, and theirs alone. And despite the inconvenience of not being able to fuck proper on a bed or even to have sex pressed against the kitchen countertop or on top of the table (or wherever else they ended up), both of them had more fun with it than they would admit to each other.

It was a real treat when they could sneak in a proper fuck. When one of them got truly desperate, sometimes they'd chance it in the shower. Only early in the morning though, and only if they'd gotten their father good and drunk the night before, so they could be sure he'd sleep through the wet noise of skin on skin as Connor pressed up into the tight heat of his brother. Even then, there were equal parts of excitement and dread at the thought that Il Duce might perchance wake up to find his sons clawing at each other underneath the almost-but-not-quite-hot spray of the shower head.

They'd gotten a chance during the last job they'd done. The three had infiltrated some fancy shindig of a house and broken up a mob meeting, snubbed a few Italian bosses and had ended the encounter with Connor and Murphy fooling their father into thinking that there was still one more goon hiding in the house. The older man had searched the house top to bottom while Connor and Murphy had flitted from room to room, fucking each other wherever they could find a bed.

It had been some surreal merry-go-round game of cat and mouse, the two stifling groans in order to keep an ear out and when they heard their father approaching, they would sneak away before he could find them, winding their way through the more-elaborate-than-necessary mazework of the house layout. It was a series of interconnection rooms and hallways that had them dancing in circles and loops, tongues and bodies clashing when they could for as long as they could manage to make their father believe they were not the sole living beings in the place.

There had been one exhilarating instant before that particular game had ended in which the twins had not had time to escape from the room before their father had walked in, only three seconds away from having seen his sons' lips entangled, flies open, boxers damp. Instead he saw just Murphy, looking a bit breathless and disheveled, but at least his pants were buttoned and after he looked around the room and eyed his son for a moment, he continued on his search and Murphy had helped his brother up from the floor of the closet where he'd shoved him, in his panic.

Connor's pants were still unbuttoned and a trail of saliva ran from the corner of his mouth.

Bonus fifty points for Team Twincest on that one, Connor declared, wiping his mouth and Murphy rolled his eyes, smacked his brother on the shoulder and told him to zip his fly before he left the room.

The best part about their game was that they always won and it didn't matter that no one else even knew they were playing.

Still, it was a nice change of pace, when the day came that Il Duce headed for the door and shook his head when they rose to follow. An invisible line ran across their room, connecting their minds to the same idea as their father explained that this was a job for just him. Personal, he said, and told them to wait here.

They would wait, oh yes.

The two watched out the window until he was out of sight before tearing at each other with a hunger that would make them seem like they were starved. Their clothes didn't make it to the bed, and they fell against the sheets and each other with an urgent ferocity.

Connor pressed his twin down against the mattress, teeth clamping down on exposed skin, careful to keep his bites where they wouldn't be seen later, his fingers roaming across Murphy's chest, his brother cursing in three different languages underneath him. And they fucked like they hadn't in weeks, hard, fast, and ferocious. Something nearly primal about the way they moved in and on each other.

Almost too fast, Connor felt himself climaxing, his brother already softening in his hand, come making both their chests sticky, some clinging to the sheets and blankets around them. The feeling of too-much-not-enough rushing and melding together into something that was base and mindless in its divine simplicity of pure sensation.

It was not until after the fact that the two realized in abject horror that they had mixed up the beds.

They had just had sex on their father's bed. Dear God, save their souls because for some reason that was an exciting enough concept in terms of sneakiness to make Connor hard all over again.

But there was no time for that problem. They didn't know how long they had before the older man would return, didn't know if it would be to the sight of come stained sheets and they the only two logical culprits of the deed.

Luckily for them, it was more than an hour later that Il Duce returned to fresh clean sheets and sons who were fully clothed and nonchalantly watching television and the housekeeping was safely blamed for the change in the bedding.

Their father made no mention of it anyways, and the two shared a sly smile at the time, but the incident had been remarkable enough to make mention later when they had another moment alone.

"What do ya think that brings us to, Murph?" Connor asked around his cigarette and the darker twin closed his eyes and exhaled, leaning back against the concrete wall of the building they were standing outside.

"I lost count," he replied at last before leaning over and pressing his lips against Connor's.

Game.

Set.

Match. 


End file.
